by Ranae Rose
She tipped her head and shrugged, as if it was nothing. “You were never anything like them. Actually, you were never anything like anyone else I’ve ever known.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.” She flashed him a broad smile. “You know what you said the other day, about you preferring that something like this happen with me, if it has to happen with anyone at all?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I feel the same way about you. I’d much rather face this with you than anyone else I’ve ever been with. You have no idea.”
Her brow crinkled, and she let out a little huff that turned into a nervous laugh.
“Judging by your expression, that’s not much of a compliment.”
“No, it’s not – sorry.”
“Did some other guy hurt you? Because I have the training and resources to kill him and make it look like an accident.”
She laughed.
He didn’t. He teased, but when he thought of someone hurting Belle like Sanders had hurt his wife or his own father had hurt him and his mother, he felt suddenly serious.
“No one’s ever raised a hand against me. I dated a real loser back in Atlanta, that’s all.”
He asked her what had happened, and she told him a story about some douchebag in a suit asking her to marry him and then blowing her and the engagement off when she found out he’d been cheating on her the entire time.
By the time she was done explaining, he felt as if he’d been hit with a two by four. As a cop, he heard crazy stories every day. Still, the idea of someone having Belle and taking her for granted – treating her as if she were stupid and worthless – was beyond him.
“What a fucking moron,” he said.
She met his gaze, her expression serious. “I know.”
“I’d tell you I’m sorry that happened, but I think I’m just glad you’re out of that relationship.”
“Believe me, I’m sorry I ever spoke a word to him. As I’m sure you can imagine, the break-up was humiliating. I wasn’t planning to bring it up anytime soon, but you’ve been so honest with me today…” She shrugged. “Turn around is fair play.”
He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, massaging the smooth skin over her knuckles. “You know, I’m feeling a lot less cocky about you telling me I’m the best you’ve ever had.”
She smiled. “If it helps to know, you’re the best by a landslide. There’s no comparison.”
“I hope not.”
She exhaled and shrugged, as if she’d just shed a heavy weight. “It feels good to have my embarrassing little secret out of the way.”
Whatever pleasure she was experiencing, it couldn’t compare to how good it felt to know that she’d been stressing because of the situation and not because she thought there was something wrong with him.
As long as she had that kind of trust in him, they’d be able to face whatever the future brought – even if she was pregnant.
* * * * *
“Come on. My mom’s been asking about you.”
Jackson met Elijah’s gaze. “Why don’t you go on your own? I feel like a black sheep when your mom makes you drag me along to family functions out of pity.”
“You mean a white sheep,” Elijah said, grinning without missing a beat. “Come on. It’s not pity; my parents like you. And you know you love my mom’s cooking. If you stay here and wallow in misguided pride, don’t expect me to bring a plate home for you.”
In a moment of weakness, Jackson let his gaze dart toward the fridge. There was some deli meat and a couple yogurts inside. Maybe a few beers. They’d already gone through most of the groceries he’d bought on his last shopping trip.
“Get your shoes on,” Elijah said, and walked out of the kitchen, where Jackson was sitting at the table.
Jackson considered his other dinner options. He could make himself a sandwich, or he could go out and grab something on his own. Belle was out to a movie with Mariah, so it wasn’t as if he could whisk her away for dinner.
Elijah was right: he was being prideful. And his mom really was a great cook.
“Knew you weren’t as dumb as you look,” Elijah said when he returned to the kitchen and found Jackson tying his shoes. “Let’s go – traffic sucks ass this time of day, and we’ll be late if we take any longer.”
And that was how he wound up riding shotgun in Elijah’s Accord, on his way to the Bennetts’ place in Charleston for a family dinner where he’d be the only one who wasn’t family.
The house was a nice four bedroom, and though it was more room than Elijah’s empty-nester parents took up on their own, quarters were close when their four children and other family visited.
Or maybe it just felt that way to Jackson, who was used to sharing an apartment with just one person. Even growing up, he hadn’t had any siblings. He’d been an only child – an afterthought in a family of begrudging adults.
When they all sat down at the long dining table, Elijah’s mom, Lorraine, had as many questions about Jackson’s wellbeing as she did her own son’s.
He and Elijah more or less had the same answers about how things were going at work and at home. He lied and told her work was going fine. The tougher realities of the job – like spousal abuse – weren’t the sort of thing you brought up at the dinner table.
As usual, Lorraine did most of the talking while her husband ate. If any couple was proof that opposites attracted, it was them. Lorraine was petite, white, blonde and grey-eyed, with a composed sweetness that Jackson figured was what people meant when they used the term “Southern belle.” As far as he knew, she’d always been a homemaker and a mother.
Elijah’s father, on the other hand, was six and a half feet tall, black and muscular with dark hair, skin and eyes, a retired detective who’d given the Charleston Police Department thirty years of service. Reserved and serious, he listened more than he spoke, but radiated too much authority to be mistaken for passive.
“You ever get that plumbing in your kitchen fixed?” he asked halfway through dinner, shooting a gaze at Elijah.
Jackson had all but forgotten about the issue they’d had with the kitchen sink a month ago.
“Landlord called a plumber in. He took care of it in about twenty minutes,” Elijah said, and that was as serious as his conversation with his father got at the table.
After dinner, Jackson got roped into conversation with Elijah’s Aunt Kelly. Physically, she looked a lot like her sister Lorraine: blonde, light-eyed and thin, although much taller. In her high heels, she stood several inches taller than Jackson’s 5’10”. She used her height advantage to corner him between the table and china cabinet.
“So tell me what you’ve been up to, Officer Cutie.” She smiled down at Jackson and winked.
Personality-wise, she was nothing like her sister.
Jackson wasn’t sure whether she flirted with him just for the entertainment of watching him squirm, or whether she regularly talked to men that way. Without any other non-family members around, there was no way to know. He was the only available victim at a Bennett family dinner, and this wasn’t the first time she’d taken advantage of that fact.
He cast his gaze around, trying to make eye contact with someone – anyone – who might rescue him by butting into the conversation.
No luck.
“Come on,” she pressed. “You must have some interesting work stories. Don’t be shy.”
She was old enough to be his mother, and on top of that, she was Elijah’s aunt – Jackson had little choice but to be polite.
He gave her an abbreviated version of his crazy cat lady story. He knew from experience that if he told her a story or two, he’d probably be able to find an opportunity to slip out of the conversation without offending her.
She tsked and shook her head. “Some people don’t know how to behave. If I called for help and you came all the way to my house in uniform, I’d be appreciative. Of course, I live here in Charleston, so my place is out of
your jurisdiction. Unfortunately.”
He forced a smile onto his face. “Yeah, unfortunately it is.”
She shook her head, as if they were commiserating over a tragedy.
And then she touched his hair, brushing it away from his forehead. “Do they really let you get away with wearing it this long? I thought there were rules about these things.”
He stepped backward and ran ass-first into the china cabinet.
The contents rattled and the back hit the wall, creating a cacophony he might’ve been able to pass off as thunder if half a dozen of Elijah’s family members hadn’t been in the room at the time.
They all turned to stare at him, and he felt their gazes like the heat of a thousand suns.
His face burnt, and he barely managed to keep his swearing under his breath.
Kelly giggled as he stood there like an idiot, his back up against the china cabinet.
Lorraine finally took mercy on him, sweeping across the room to where he stood, one cabinet corner digging into his right ass cheek.
He hoped like hell he hadn’t broken any of her china. If he had, he might find out just how far her sweetness stretched.
“Is everything all right, Jackson?” Lorraine’s brow furrowed. “You look a little flushed. I hope it wasn’t my cooking.”
“Your cooking was fantastic, Mrs. Bennett. I’m just feeling a little overheated.”
Kelly giggled again, and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Jesus, he was an idiot.
“I’d better step outside for a little fresh air,” he said.
“Okay, honey – you feel free to come in and have a rest on the couch if that doesn’t do anything for you.”
He made his exit in the blink of an eye, his face still burning.
When he stepped out onto the back porch, he found Elijah there with his dad.
“Beers are in the cooler,” Mike Bennett said, nodding toward an old beach cooler shoved beneath a patio table.
Jackson accepted the invitation gratefully, digging a Land Shark out of the ice and leaning on the porch railing. As he opened the bottle, he tried not to think about what Kelly might be thinking – or saying – about him back in the house.
Elijah and his father looked as if they’d been talking about something serious while Jackson had been making an ass of himself, although Mike Bennett always looked serious, so that didn’t necessarily mean much.
Sometimes Jackson wondered whether he’d been that way thirty years ago or whether three decades on the police force had made him so sober.
“We’re talking about that shit bag, Sanders,” Elijah said, as if he’d read Jackson’s mind.
He nodded, his overly full stomach turning at the reminder.
His mind was on overload, too. Between Belle’s pregnancy scare and Sanders’ bullshit, he hardly thought about anything else. The two very different sets of worries whirled through his mind like two rabid dogs chasing each other’s tails.
A small part of him hoped Mike would offer some brilliant perspective on how to deal with Sanders, but he knew better than to put much faith in the idea. He himself had been working the job long enough to know there wasn’t much he could do, especially with Harding as his lieutenant.
“Unfortunately, you’ve gotta play by the rules,” Mike said.
The part of Jackson that’d been holding out hope dropped dead.
Elijah made an exasperated sound before tipping back his beer.
Mike shot his son a look. “I know it’s hard when you’re dealing with someone who isn’t playing by the rules. In fact, I know what you’re dealing with. We used to have a guy like that in my platoon about twenty-five years ago. Screwed everybody over every chance he got.”
“Yeah?” Elijah said. “What happened to him?”
CHAPTER 21
Mike looked out over his yard, at his neighbor’s fenced lot and the palm-lined street beyond. “He stood back and watched while another officer got in an altercation with some crackhead swinging a baseball bat around. The officer ended up with half a dozen broken bones, and Benedict Arnold hung back – didn’t do anything. He got the shit beaten out of him by half the platoon one night shortly after that, and decided law enforcement wasn’t for him after all.”
“Sounds like a fairy tale,” Jackson said. “If anyone deserves a beating, it’s Sanders.”
Mike shrugged. “That was before body cams, not to mention people with phones on every corner, recording everything. It’s hard to ever be off the record nowadays.”
Jackson nodded – it was true.
“But your problem’s a little different,” Mike said. “This Sanders guy has it out for you especially because of the arrest. He’ll play the other officers in your platoon against you if he gets the chance, like he did with your interim lieutenant. Guys like him don’t keep their jobs long unless they’re good at covering their tracks.”
“So what’s your advice?”
“Don’t let that happen. These officers know you, and they don’t know him. Be better than him. Rise above his bullshit and weather the storm until your lieutenant’s leave is over. And above all, watch your back.”
Jackson nodded, wishing there was something he could do other than grasp at common fucking sense.
“You know I’ve got your back, man,” Elijah said. “And no one else in the platoon likes Sanders anyway. It’s not like you’re on your own.”
“What about Sanders’ wife? His kid?” The thought bubbled to the surface of his mind and burst out. “No one has their backs, and I still feel responsible for that call.”
Mike nodded. “There are times when you want to help more than you can, and that’s one of the hardest parts of the job. I’ve been telling Elijah that for years.”
The knot in Jackson’s gut tightened. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but Mike was right.
Still, the situation was wrong. His mind itched to find a solution, some unseen loophole or brilliant conclusion he could grasp and use to knock Sanders down a thousand pegs or so.
“I know it feels counterintuitive,” Mike said. “You took this job because you want to help people. But you’ve got to learn to focus on controlling what you can. You have people in your life you care about? Protect them. Make efforts every day not to become the kind of person you wish you could protect other people from. Be what you can for who you can. It’s all anyone can do.”
Thoughts of Belle hit him like lightning, electrifying some protective sector of his brain. He’d protect her with his dying breath, with a passion no one else evoked in him – not anyone he helped on the job, or elsewhere. And if they ended up having a child, he’d do the same for him or her. But was that really all he could do?
A life protecting Belle would be a life well spent; he wasn’t denying it. But he’d signed up to help whoever he could – people beyond his personal sphere. People who didn’t have anyone else to turn to. He felt like a cog in a useless machine. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he’d been a child stuck in a situation similar to Kate’s, and he fucking hated it.
“You’re a good cop, Jackson.” Mike’s baritone sounded a million miles away. “It’s harder to be good at this job than it is to be bad, but don’t let that break you. The day will come when you’ll be able to help someone like Sanders’ wife, and you’ll be ready to do it.”
* * * * *
“Here, Belle.” Jackson pulled an oblong box from a plastic drug store bag and pressed it into her open hand. “It was the most expensive one, so I figure it’s the best.”
She scanned the print on the blue and white box. The name brand test promised to detect a pregnancy up to five days early. She was expecting to get her period any day now, so it should work.
“Thanks.” He was still in uniform. Back on night shift now, he’d driven straight from the police station and to the nearest drug store, then to her apartment.
It wasn’t even eight in the morning – she still wore the cotton shorts and mismatched cami she’d
slept in. The thought of him walking into the store after a twelve hour shift, still in uniform, and picking out the test for her made her chest feel small and full of emotion she couldn’t quite identify.
The longer she held the test, the more tightly her nerves wound themselves.
“It’ll be a relief to know,” she said.
“Yeah, it will.”
It felt as if the blood in her veins had been replaced by electricity. It crackled through her, making her skin prickle as sweat gathered at her temples. What if she really was pregnant – what if the fears that’d haunted her since their slip nearly two weeks ago were justified?
Everything would change. Her world would turn on a dime. What she and Jackson had would be shot full of urgency, forced to mature into something more serious than either of them had intended so soon. The relationship might not survive.
He took one of her hands, wrapping her fingers in his. “We’ll know either way in a few minutes. No more stressing over what-ifs.”
She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be right here.”
Heart racing, she turned down the hall, then shut the bathroom door behind herself.
* * * * *
Jackson waited alone in Belle’s living room, standing next to the couch. He didn’t consider sitting; this felt like something he should wait for with boots on the ground.
The room receded into the distance as he waited, still sweating in his uniform. Sweating, but calmer than he’d imagined – calmer than Belle had seemed.
Which made sense. If she was pregnant, she’d be the one carrying a baby. And he’d be … what, stuck with a woman he was crazy over, with a family on the way? He could easily imagine worse fates.
Not that they’d planned this, or that he wasn’t sorry for putting her through the wringer. But part of him would welcome the permanent ties the promise of family would forge between them, and he’d embrace his new role with all of his being.
He hadn’t said as much to Belle – not the first part, anyway. He didn’t want to freak her out or seem indifferent to her suffering. But if she was pregnant – if they were that one in eight – he’d tell her then that he wasn’t upset. That if there was anyone he could imagine having a family with, it was her, and he looked forward to making the best of an unexpected situation.